


Nightmare Drabble

by Wardzee



Category: Superjail! (Cartoon)
Genre: Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wardzee/pseuds/Wardzee
Summary: A drabble about the Warden having a nightmare.





	Nightmare Drabble

He woke up screaming, startled awake by the sudden noise of a cell door swinging open. The Warden’s eyes were wide open as he sat upright in the simple, prison-issue bed. He scrambled backwards, kicking himself free of musty linen sheets and nibbled wool, sweeping away a stuffed toy in his frantic crawl. His heart was drumming madly in his chest, his throat constricted and he could feel his sodden shirt against his back as he backed himself into the wall.  
  
His whole body was shaking as he kept pressing his back against crude, icy paint. The Warden whimpered briefly, felt his face and noticed that he was missing his glasses. He felt around for them blindly, and they were eventually returned to his nose with a trembling hand.  
  
Whatever the noise had been, it was over now. It'd been distant. It wasn’t there with him. He’d just had a bad dream. He must have imagined it. It must have all been in his head. Had he taken his meds the night before? Where was Jailbot? He shuddered strongly, his knuckles white as they gripped the mattress’ cover.  
  
The man had woken up in such a state that it took him some time to realize he wasn’t in his room. This wasn’t Superjail. This wasn’t his bed. These weren’t his favourite, calming smells. He took shallow urgent breaths of the stale air around him. It was dark, too dark, and only faint moonlight filtered through a small barred window to keep the shadows at bay. Where was he? His head was spinning and his body was stiff with adrenaline. His eyes darted around the tiny cell as he panted, still tucked into the corner, his feet still sliding nervously between crumpled sheets.  
  
There it was, his little chair and desk. There they were, the scattered building blocks on the floor, at the foot of the bed. His curled fists lifted moth-chewed bedding and he rubbed them between gloved fingers. He jerked his head up and found the same round pale moon he knew so well, like an old friend.  
  
“Oh no...” He whined. “Oh no...no no no...Please...”  
  
His heart sank as soon as he realized where he was. He teared up. He was still dreaming. He must have been. Either that, or he’d finally lost his mind utterly. If he was dreaming, then he had to snap himself awake. He recognized this particular scenario, he never remembered how it ended but he knew he didn’t want to be here anymore.  
  
He scooted off the bed quickly, stumbled forwards into the dark and cursed as his bare feet met with a pair of polished little black shoes. The Warden flailed his way towards the dark edge of his cell and felt blindly for the cell door he knew would be there. His fists curled around aged metal bars, and he could feel their gritty, rusty texture in his sweaty grip.  
  
He shook the door and it rattled in its frame. He needed to get out. It didn’t give, as a cell door _should_ and a strong shiver ran down his spine before his whole body locked up and he yelled with fear, with frustration. He shook the door again, strongly this time, powered by terror. An enormous sense of dejá vu left him feeling nauseous and winded. He’d been in this situation before, crying in the dark, pleading to be let out with only the nightsky to bear him witness.  
  
The Warden’s lungs were burning and his face was on fire. He wanted to scream for his freedom but a crushing weight upon his chest smothered his voice before it crossed his lips. There was no point in begging, there was no point in crying, there was no point in raising his voice. No one had ever come to his aid before, why should now be any different?  
  
He frowned, biting his lower lip with such intensity that it bled. His breathing hitched, his fists curled tighter around the bars. This time things would be different. This time he was a grown man, and this time he would fight back. He would rescue himself.  
  
"LET ME OUT!!!” His voice echoed down the corridor leading out of his solitary confinement.  
  
The anger in his cry spurred him on and he resumed his shaking of the cell door. If he was dreaming, then he would make as much noise as he liked. This time he wouldn’t be ignored.  
  
“FATHER!!!! LET ME OUT!!!” He yelled fiercely, out the top of his lungs, hoping to lure out the man single-handedly responsible for his misery.  
  
This time his voice was not a mousey squeak of a child but a furious bellow. This time he wouldn’t go quietly to sleep. He’d continue to cause as much of a ruckus as he could. He wouldn’t be silenced anymore. His anger burned brighter than his terror and he clung to it to power through his nightmare. He continued to call out until his throat was sore. The cell door continued to be rattled until the persistent repetitive noise lured him into a familiar trance and he lost track of time.  
  
Suddenly, there was a distant noise of a door opening down the dark corridor. Steps. The Warden snapped out of it, and rattled the cell door as vigorously as he could. He wheezed, and called out defiantly into the dark. A light came on. He tried to push his face as close through the bars as he could. A tophatted shadow stood in the hallway, stretching down the corridor.  
  
“F-F-Father?” He was boiling with anger, but emotions bubbled close to the surface and he found himself tearing up again, much to his fury.  
  
He couldn’t believe it. Father had come after all. The sound of steps returned, and it was clear that someone was coming to see him. The Warden whimpered as his knees shook and his chest rattled with a pained breath. He pressed his tear-stained salty lips together and stifled a whimper. He needed...to get out.  
  
_Please...let me out. I can’t stand the dark anymore. Please..._  
  
He gasped with shock as his rescuer drew into view. The figure standing on the other side of the bars was not his dad, but a tall smiling robot instead. His eyes widened and shifted from side to side as they danced to try and take in everything they were seeing. He was standing face to face with a Lackey. The robot grinned, its smile and big empty eyes staring back at him. The trooper was armed. Other guards rose behind him from the shadows.  
  
A loud buzzer rang out as the barrier separating him from his creations slid open. He stumbled backwards with surprise and the guards rushed into his cell. His dimly lit pale lemon shirt disappeared into a sea of dark purple as the Warden was overpowered and forced unto his knees by a vicious blow to the back of his head.  
  
Everything went black for a moment and it took him some time to come back around. When he regained consciousness he was still on the floor, his arms held painfully high behind his back - his head kept low by the sharp blade of a bayonet. Countless yellow eyes grinned at him wickedly, standing out from the darkness with a resounding hum.  
  
Something struck him across the face and he cried out in pain as his glasses shattered on the dirty floor. It’d been something thin, something firm. A cane. He recognized its whipping sound and through teary eyes he looked towards his aggressor.  
  
“I want him executed.” Stated the voice, lively, musical.  
  
“W-What?” The Warden stammered, looking up and seeing a blurred image of himself towering about him.  
  
“Do it! Now!” The Other Warden yelled.  
  
His eyes widened with terror as he realized he could feel the end of a gun aimed at the back of his head. He heard a Lackey walk up behind him. There was a dreadful moment of silence as it pulled back its gun’s safety catch, pumped the gun’s bullet magazine.  
  
The last thing he heard was a click he’d become far too familiar with.


End file.
